I decided to skip my ceramics class yesterday. The pressure to get things finished ended the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, but mostly, I cut class to rehearse for my audition. The pieces I needed to read just aren’t the kind of things you read around 6 year olds. I needed time to practice it alone. Since I didn’t have to get to class until the afternoon, I took the boys to breakfast (if you call donuts breakfast) and drove them to school. They seemed happy enough about it. Then I went back home and napped before I showered, ate, practiced for my audition, and left for class.

We had an easy day in my jewelry class. My professor is on maternity leave, so we have a sub. He explained the next step of our casting project and left us to go to it. Kristine, my regular professor, always demonstrates everything. I was sharp yesterday. I asked the sub if he would demo for us. He thought it was a good idea, and asked if anyone had a piece ready to go. Of course, I was ready for this, so I quickly volunteered my piece. He did the demo, and I was free to leave since my piece was now finished. So far, it had been a very lazy day.

My audition wasn’t until 5:10, so I hung out in the union reading over my audition pieces again. I knew that if I got to the audition too early, I would be very very nervous. It had been 15 years since I had auditioned for anything, so I was nervous already.

The person who was supposed to audition before me cancelled just as I got there. That meant I would be going first. Not first for the day, but first first. Very first. FIRST.

When I met with the two women who were casting for the show, it was awkward. They seemed almost as nervous as I was. I think it must have been their first time directing. Or maybe it was just that I was first and they weren’t really into the whole auditioning thing yet. They even neglected to introduce themselves.

They asked me that-very-stupid-thing-that-people-ask-when-they-don’t-know-what-to-ask. They asked me to tell a little bit about myself. I really hate that. I always feel like it’s a trick question of some kind. Yeah, I know. Technically, it’s not even a question. “Tell us a little about yourself.” I know this. But it is a trick. I mean, what exactly do they want to know about me? Why don’t they just ask what they want to know? Do they want to know the basic stuff about me like my name and age? Or am I supposed to be creative and tell them my favorite color?

Luckily, I was able to blow through the interview part of the audition fairly quickly since they got started late and were only allowing us 10 minutes each. I think the audition went pretty well. Call backs are Thursday, and I expect to be called back for two reasons. One reason is because they barely had enough girls auditioning for the 18 parts. There were probably no more than 20 girls signed up altogether. The production isn’t a traditional play or musical, but more like an interpretive reading. I’ll put my modesty aside for just a minute and say that the other reason I expect to get a call back is because I was told by my interpretive reading professor that I had a talent for it. We’ll find out on Thursday if the director agrees with that statement.

Every so often I disappear for a week at a time and come back with a bunch of quirky little things that have been going on in my life. So, here’s my update!

I ordered Rob a new set of knives for Christmas. They arrived just before Thanksgiving, so I figured it was the perfect opportunity to try them out. We tested them on apple, turkey, bread, finger, and thumb. They’re very sharp.

I’ve found myself being British again this week. Only this time, I’m being Irish. Why, you ask? Well, why not? It’s fun!

I have an audition at school on Monday. Nick has been talking about his auditions for a bit now and it made me think about how much fun I used to have on stage. I haven’t performed on stage in a few years, so I’m a bit nervous.

We had our first snow here on Wednesday. I’d say we had close to 4 inches, which is a good amount for this time of year. I can’t remember the last time we had snow for Thanksgiving.

I learned that someone got access to one of my DGate accounts recently. Since talking about bad things upsets me, I won’t go into the details. The good news is that it got me to backup the important files on my computer and clean out the stuff I don’t really need or want.

I had a very nice Thanksgiving day. Last year, my dad was in need of a kidney transplant, so I gave him my left kidney just two weeks before Thanksgiving. While we had a lot to be thankful for last year, we were both quite sore and not quite up to celebrating like we’re used to. This year, we ate too much, laughed too much, and played cards until well past midnight. It was a good day.

The curse has crossed the generation gap.

My boys had a half day of school today. Since I have school on Wednesdays, this meant my dad had to be here to get them earlier than usual. My parents are in the process of remodeling their house, and the new floors were being installed today. My dad wanted to take the boys back to his house, but my mom was completely against the idea. She never likes having the boys there because she has this idea that they’ll always get into trouble. Everytime they’ve been there, she’s reported that, on a scale of 1-10, they were 20s. So, they’ve never been trouble, and there was no reason to believe they would be trouble today.

When I talked to my dad this morning, he asked me again if it would be okay to take the boys back to his house. I didn’t have a problem with it. My exact words were, “They’re not puppies, they’re people. If you tell them not to run around, they won’t run around.” If you’ve been following along for the past couple of days, you know what happened today.

At 4:00, I got a call from my dad. Jacob was running around the kitchen where he slid and cut his knee open on a nail. My dad was taking him to urgent care just to be on the safe side. At 5:30, I got a call from him again, asking if I preferred him to have stitches or a butterfly bandage which would require 7-10 days of careful attention. Jacob got three stitches.

My mom always says things like this happen in threes. We’ll see.

Apparently, the being that is responsible for dishing out lessons feels that I haven’t learned my lesson about falling quite yet. Here’s the set up.

Today was work day in my ceramics class. The ceramics department recently finished building our wood kiln, and today was the day we were to load it and begin the first firing. There was no room near the ceramics studio to build the kiln, so it was constructed outside the sculpture building, which is on the opposite end of campus. That meant we had to pack the pieces and haul them over there somehow. I volunteered to take them over, since I have a nice big truck.

While the pieces were being boxed, I was given the job of making clay. Making clay is a very messy process. The first step is loading slop into the mixer. Slop is a mixture of water and old clay chunks that has been sitting for several weeks. When clay gets wet, it gets very very slippery. Think of the muck that sits on the bottom of a pond and you’ve got the idea of what kind of texture we had. Being the naturally sloppy person that I am, I managed to get a few clumps of the slop on the floor. The next part of making clay is adding the dry ingredients. The dry ingredients are very finely ground to make the clay smooth. My accomplice managed to dump half a bag of a very powdery substance on the floor. The bottoms of our shoes were caked with clay before we were finished mixing.

At this point, I was asked to get my truck. It’s been raining here all day. The path to my parking lot is through Sill Hall, across the walk to Alexander Hall, through Alexander, down the stairs, across the street, through the parking lot, across the street, behind the church, and to the parking lot. So, I go through Sill Hall. No problem. Then I go outside to get to Alexander. No problem there either. At the point, I feel the need to remind you that I have clay caked all over the bottoms of my shoes. Remember also that it’s raining like crazy. Into Alexander, down the hallway to the stairwell, one step, two step…. and bump, bump, bump down the next five steps on my butt.

At least now my left side matches my right side.

I was watching TV with my husband on Saturday night, and we saw one of those commercials where some poor old woman falls and uses an emergency pendant to call for help. I turned to my husband and I said, “I don’t get that. How do old people just fall? And how is it that they fall so badly that they can’t get themselves up?” We discussed it and theorized that as we age, our sense of balance changes. Later that night, I went to check on the boys and I nearly toppled over when I got out of bed. I lost my balance and had to grab the quilt to keep from falling backwards. Rob, of course, had a good laugh over this and quickly pointed out that “this is how old people fall over.”

Last night, the two of us were chasing the boys around the house. For some reason, it never crossed my mind to move the laundry basket out of our path. Rob caught his foot on the basket, and almost fell down. A smart person would have taken that as a warning to move the basket, but not me. My luck could only hold out for so long until eventually, I too caught my foot on the basket. Unlike Rob, my reflexes were not quick enough to catch myself from falling. Down, down, down I went. In the foyer. Which isn’t carpeted. I broke my fall with my right hand, which has left my entire right arm and shoulder very sore. I landed on my right leg, which feels bruised from my hip to my knee. I don’t know why my left knee is hurting, but it had to do with the fall.

Today, I’m still sore. My apologies to old people everywhere. I get it now.

You know Christmas is coming soon when you start to see holiday versions of various products. I am a sucker for those specially boxed crackers and cookies that come out every year. I mean, crackers are good, but they’re even better when they are shaped like snowflakes.

Some of the companies don’t even change the product. They change only the box. The Keebler elves added glitter and red and white stripes to a few of their boxes, but the crackers are their same old shape. I’ll probably still buy ‘em.

And OF COURSE I’ll get some of those festive candies that I probably won’t eat. Something about green and red foil makes Hershey’s Kisses irresistable to me. Oh, and don’t forget green and red M&Ms.

Then there are those tins of butter cookies. I love the butter cookies.

I’m such a sucker for marketing.

Ever since I worked on my self-portrait, I’ve felt this strange change in my perception of myself. I’ve written many times about how I don’t feel like an artist. However, for these past few weeks, I’ve found myself thinking of myself as an artist. A real artist.

I had a shaky start in my ceramics class. When I look back at the pieces I made several weeks ago, I can see that they were made by someone who felt unsure about the choices that were made, and insecure about working in clay. Working on the bust has somehow given me the confidence to call myself an artist, and more importantly, to believe it. I feel secure about my artistic decisions now. I feel that the ideas I have are just as valuable as the ideas of other artists.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve worked on a few other projects that have been sitting idly in the back of my mind just waiting to get out. I’ve finished a painting that is now waiting to be hung in my living room. I’ve begun to recreate a sculpture I made a few years ago in my 3-D class. I’ve been contemplating a way to finish a paper sculpture I began before we moved into this house last year. And of course, I’ve been working like mad in my ceramics and jewelry classes, as well as brainstorming new designs for Whimsy Chick.

When my ceramics professor told us a funny factoid about artists yesterday, I didn’t hesitate to connect the information to myself. I feel like this new perspective is a huge step in some recovery program. Welcome to Insecure Artists Anonymous.

Yesterday, I traded in my old mattress for a cloud. Our mattress was getting pretty old, and over the years it was gradually causing me to have more and more discomfort, and less and less rest. Last night was the first night I got to sleep in the new bed, so it was probably a bad idea to tell the boys they could sleep with me since Daddy is out of town this week. Despite being squashed between two squirmy six year olds, and despite having a small bony Italian Greyhound wedged between my knees, I slept pretty well. I didn’t get as much continual sleep as I would have liked, but that’s what happens when you sleep between two wiggly kids. I also have this annoying little cough that kept waking me up. But I woke up early and in no pain. So I really can’t complain.

I’m looking forward to sleeping on my cloud by myself for the rest of the week.

We took the boys to see The Incredibles last night. Rob read that it got a B+, though I’m not sure who gave it that rating. I loved it! I’d rate it up there with both Toy Story movies and Monsters Inc. I can’t wait to see it again, but at least I’ll have Shrek 2 to entertain me until then.

The movie got me thinking about what super power I’d like if I could choose one. Actually, I’ve been thinking about my super power for a long time now. I always thought flying or invisibility would be the way to go, and if I could have multiple super powers, those would probably be on my list. However, when I really think about it, the super power I’d want is the ability to heal by touch. I’m not altruistic, I just think it’d be neat. I have this little thing I do with the boys when they get hurt. I told them when they were very young that all mommies have a healing touch. It’s kinda cute to see them run to me calling “Healing touch! Healing touch!” when they get hurt. It works, of course, but not in a super hero kind of way. Maybe it’s because I’m a mommy that I’d like healing touch as my super power.

What would your super power be?

Last Monday, my ceramics professor wanted to make a suggestion to me before I continued to work on my bust. She asked me to step back and take a look at what I did with the hair. The week before that, she wouldn’t let me work on the face until I put on ears and hair, so I obliged by slapping on slabs of clay. My intention was to finish the hair up later, but the slabs looked kinda cool just plopped on like they were. Apparently, she agreed because when she asked me to step away, she suggested that I consider leaving the hair just the way I had placed it. She’s been saying all along “sometimes distortions are kind of nice.” She liked the way my bust was turning out and said it looked a lot like a medieval boy. She said, “It’s not you now. Stop thinking of it as you, and work with your instinct.” So that’s what I did. This picture is from Monday after class.

It’s not quite the finished version, but I’m not sure you’d see the subtle changes I made yesterday in a photograph anyway.

The ears were a bit difficult. I’ve taken a shot of each of them and cropped it close in Photoshop so you can see. I’ve also flipped one of the ears over so you can compare them. Actually, I flipped it so I could compare them, but I figured that just maybe someone else might be interested in seeing them.

So that’s it. My prof asked me to move the thing to the kiln room so she could take a picture to show the department head. Yeah, I’m kinda proud.